Luna often went to cemeteries to place flowers on all the graves that had none. She thought that it was only fair that someone take care of them.

Oh my god, Phoebe. It is so blaringly obvious that this is you.

It’s not even smut! It was only a fragment of an idea that I don’t think is that great.

Okay I’ve kinda sorta got this Wolfstar fic planned?

Do you guys have any opinions about this? 

“Good one, James!”

Sirius’s breath catches in his throat. Why did he say that? He is dueling beside Harry. Harry, James’s son. His godson.

Why did he say James? James is dead. He has been dead for so, so long. He will never duel alongside James again. James is dead, and it was his fault. Harry is alone and it is his fault.

No, he corrects himself. Harry has him. Because James and Lily trusted him.

And then there is a flash of green light, cast from dearest Bella’s wand, and he moves to avoid it instinctively. He can’t help but laugh, planning to throw a taunt at his cousin, but it is too late.

Sirius is falling and the Veil is enveloping him, welcoming him with open arms. He does not want to go, but he cannot move. It is suffocating him, he wants so badly to escape, to talk to Harry at least one more time so he could just mend things. Everything fades and then there is nothing but the rhythm of the names of the people he loves, pounding again and again in his heart. Harry. James. Remus. Lily. Harry. James. Remus. Lily. Over and over and over again.

Why is he still falling? Is this what death brings?

He has failed them all. He has failed the ones that were most important to him and now he is dead and the last thing he said to Harry was a mistake and now it is too late to fix anything, nevertheless everything.

Sorry for not posting lately, I haven’t really been inspired.

If anyone has any ideas, please tell!

I love this blog and try to keep it active as possible, but I really don’t want to force it and have subpar or bad headcanons. 

A portrait of Severus Snape hung in the Headmaster’s office, watching the people that sometimes came and left.
The first of Harry Potter’s children he met was James Sirius.
Severus disliked him. He had inherited both his namesakes’ love for mischief, and therefore was sent to the Headmaster’s office very often.

Harry and Hermione would bring their children over to each others’ houses and watch the latest Disney movie that had come out.

Ron and Ginny would roll their eyes and mutter about stupid Muggle stories, but they always ended up secretly watching from the kitchen. 

Luna died at the age of 87, retired and happy. 

Every year on her birthday, in her honour, her friends and family danced that strange dance that she and her father loved so much.

Even when the people that truly knew her died, people kept the tradition alive. Eventually, people started forgetting why they did this dance, or the origin, but they kept dancing it, every year on her birthday. 

George developed selective mutism after the war. 

The first words he did speak was a muttered, “Fred,” after having had a nightmare.

He swore that after he spoke, he saw Fred’s soul floating into the air.